The Guidance of an Angel
by Gabriezzu
Summary: When Christine Daaé asks her Angel of Music for piano lessons, Erik cannot refuse, even if that means recurring to desperate measures. Leroux-based one shot.


The Guidance of an Angel

Erik awaited the arrival of his pupil with exactly twenty minutes of anticipation, with the constant excuse resounding in his head that he _had_ to be early. What kind of tutor would he be if he did not? Because it was, of course, mere professionalism what dragged him each day a minute earlier off the shelter of his home. It was mere professionalism what made him climb a thousand stairs even on the coldest mornings when the never-fully-healed cracks on his bones made him wince in pain with each step. It was also pure professionalism what made his vanity flourish every morning, combing once and again the few strands of hair he had, applying lotion to his ugly face, wearing the best of his clothes even if no one would see them. And of course, it was absolute pure professionalism all the nights he spent just thinking of how beautiful her free smile was, how gracefully her golden hair was tied even when messy, how adorably pink her cheeks glowed after a particularly hard note. It was all pure, absolute, mere professionalism.

His skeletal fingers tapped over the back of his other hand, tightly folded together to avoid the need to check his pocket watch at all times to make sure Christine was not late. She was never late, of course, but if she ever was, it had to be because something happened. His little Christine was always so eager to please her angel.

A bittersweet, humorless smile appeared on his face at the thought –him, a horrid creature who belonged to nowhere but the coldness of the cellar, being an angel? The idea was so painfully and bitterly funny that he wanted to laugh and throw up with the same intensity- but was quickly taken out of the pit of self-hatred before even starting to descend to it by the sound of the dressing room's door opening and closing. Erik straightened his back at the sound, getting closer to the mirror to have a better look at the person on the other side. His beautiful Christine was there; her face bare of make-up and her breath quick. She had once again run late and had been in need of running to get there in time, concluded Erik after a quick glance to his watch to confirm that she had, in fact, got two minutes and a half late.

After a quick apology for this and Erik's assurance that it was no problem, they started their daily lesson. It began and ended just like any other, and sadly, soon it was time for Christine to go. Erik always had a hard time hiding his disappointment and had to try his best to make his voice sound as calm and angelic as always. An angel could not be sad for such a humane thing as a temporary goodbye, even if it was the most lonely angel of them all.

Erik stayed behind the mirror, observing Christine raising from her sitting position in front of her own reflection and moving to the door. He was about to turn and leave, waiting as always for her to leave first, not wanting to miss a single second of her divine presence, when the sudden voice of his beloved –his _student_ \- caught his attention, chaining him to the spot:

"Angel," she called, and his heart skipped a beat, "Do you think you could teach me how to play the piano? It is just that… when we sing, I… I would like for a melody to accompany our voices, too."

"I can play the music of Heaven for you whenever you want," he answered, "All you have to do is want it, and I shall give it to you."

From the other side of the mirror, Erik saw Christine's face illuminate with a smile, and as she expressed her gratefulness, Erik noticed slight dissatisfaction. She truly wished for herself to learn the art of music, and if Christine wanted anything, Erik would move heaven and earth for her to have it.

"If your heart truly desires to learn, I shall teach you, child," Erik said.

And that was how he now found himself in such a complicated situation.

Unlike singing, teaching Christine how to play was proving to be an extremely tiring and tedious task. The girl simply couldn't get the moves right. But she was adamant, his little Christine, and she refused to give up even after three lessons of complete failure. She was just not ready to be defeated.

"No, no, Christine, remember: relax. Your fingers will cramp. Let your hands go; relax them over the piano, yes, like that… no, move your left hand slightly more to… no, no," he repeated for what felt the millionth time, powerlessly watching through the glass as the girl stumbled with her own fingers. It was frustrating, truly, the way she kept angling her hand in such a way. That would only hurt her wrist, but as much as Erik kept repeating it, she seemed unable to stop herself from doing it.

"I am sorry, Angel," said Christine, her head bowing in shame, "I cannot do it. I am sorry for disappointing you."

If it had been any other creature on the world, the sight of tears would have done nothing to Erik's frozen heart, who was used to fall and have no one to ever clean his scraped knees. He had learned, after all, that no one would ever be there to hold your hand, and that tears were useless in the face of frustration. Weakness, Erik believed, was a sickness that could only be eradicated through blind determination.

But this was no ordinary creature. This was Christine, and these were her tears. Erik's heart melted at her words, and the sight of yet-unshed tears forming in her eyes made his soul cry.

"Dear Christine, please do not cry," he said, desperate to erase those tears, "we can continue practicing. Learning is a slow process, child."

"No, it is useless, angel, I can now see it," she said, cleaning the tears from her face with her palm, "I have no talent for playing, it seems."

"Nonsense," replied immediately the Voice, "you can do this, Christine. You have the guidance of an Angel, and I shall teach you how."

"But, Angel, I cannot…"

And as the tears kept falling, Erik knew he could not let her spirit be crushed in such a way. The world was a cold, harsh place that did not deserve the purity of Christine Daaé, and because of that, Erik –whose golden eyes had always shone with the spark of evilness and never held a single chance for redemption- had to shield her from the painful wound of disappointment and rejection. He had to show her she could, even if he had to recur to desperate measures.

"Close your eyes, Christine," he said; his hands fisted to avoid shaking, "and whatever you do, do not open them."

"Why not?"

Oh, Christine, always so curious! Her pure innocence was so endearing, so lovely, that it frightened Erik. Anyone could fool that poor woman, who acted and looked like one, but whose heart beat the symphony of naivety and childishness!

"Because I will appear beside you, and humans must not see Angels, Christine." The lies came out of his mouth as easily as rain from the clouds.

Christine gasped loudly at the other side, as her eyes scanned every corner to look for him. He could already feel this was not a good idea.

"Close your eyes, and do not open them."

The girl stilled, straightened her back, and faced the piano before closing her eyes.

Erik let a sigh escape his barely-existent lips, before slipping one hand on his coat and retrieving a piece of black cloth: the unsophisticated, cheap attempt of a mask he always carried with him, just in case. He put it on even though he trusted that the girl's blind faith would not allow her to disobey him.

With the cloth safely on his face, he activated the mechanism of the mirror and stepped inside the dressing room, where a perfectly still Christine sat in front of the piano.

His legs could hardly keep him standing, and slowly and completely soundlessly –at least, he hoped he was soundless: the wild, raging beating of his heart blocked away any other sound- he moved beside her. He threw his voice to make it sound like he was nearer than he truly was:

"I am here, Christine," sounded the voice right beside her right ear, "I will take your hand. Do not be afraid and do not open your eyes. Let the Angel of Music show you the art of Heaven."

Erik took his gloves off, telling himself that it was merely because it would facilitate the job –because it was a job, really, not that he would gain any personal enjoyment over touching his horrible dead skin with the beautiful, warm, delicate and perfect skin of Christine's beautiful hands. He was a gentleman and he would never abuse her innocence. No, he would never!-. He waited for the slight nod of her head indicating her approval, and shakenly got nearer, his heart beating so loudly and wildly that his ribs could have broken at any second, and his brow sticky with sweat under the cloth; his body mere inches away from hers as his trembling hands dared to lay on top of hers.

She gave a sharp gasp, and Erik's hands tensed.

"Are you alright, Christine?" he asked, and this time he did not need to throw his voice for it to sound like a whisper in her ear. She shuddered; the mix of his overwhelming voice and the slight caress of his breath on her hair resulting intoxicating. She was surrounded by a smell she could not name at that moment, but that in a few months she would firmly call "the smell of death."

"Yes… Yes, angel," she breathed, and Erik had to close his eyes for a second. He could smell her hair: Lavanda and roses and all the flowers in the world. This was too much, this was wrong.

With a feathery touch, he guided her hands to the tiles.

"This is how you position your hands, Christine," he said, trying to see beyond their joined hands to the instrument before them. His mind was too concentrated on not stopping breathing, and keeping his shaking body away enough from the girl so she could only feel his hands on top of hers. "Notice the angle of your wrists. This way, you will not get hurt."

"Yes…" she answered, and, if she had not been giving her back to him, he would have seen the slight blush blooming on her face. His finger dared to push down hers slightly, and the first note came out.

"Then, let's begin, Christine Daaé," He breathed, and Christine could have sworn that her name had never sounded like that before.

As their combined fingers slowly poured the music into the air, Erik's explanations became scarcer, and by the time his words had completely stopped, Christine's naïve mind had been lost for a while.

All that mattered was the burning melody around them. It twisted, it stirred, it held their mingled heartbeats and transformed it into the sweetest melodies. And neither of them cared. Erik hardly remembered his role; his obligation as nothing but a teacher a mere whisper in the back of his mind. The feel of her nearness was intoxicating, overwhelming. The most wonderful sensation known to man, finally at the reach of his hand.

And then Christine's head reclined on the base of his neck, and Erik had never before felt such bliss and torture.

"Christine…" Erik murmured, wondering if she could feel his burning heartbeat as intensely as he did. A little voice in the back of his consciousness whispered that angels had no heartbeat.

"Yes, Angel?" she whispered, as his fingers still danced over hers in the most intimate of dances. The music filled every corner of her mind as much as his hands –those cold, skinny, damp hands- covered hers. His coldness was like water over burned skin. A little voice in the back of her consciousness told her that angels shouldn't be this cold, this near, this intoxicating. She wondered for a second, before the thought could be drowned by a particularly fulfilling note of the piano –when had they stopped playing random tiles and learning their position and differences in sound, and succumbed to the calls of a song?-, if perhaps this was a sin.

Erik did not answer. He had nothing to say. He wanted to say nothing. All he wanted was to tattoo the sensation of her skin under his, her golden hair tickling the base of his neck. The smell of her sweat mixed with his. He wanted to run away as much as he wanted to never move again.

Christine relaxed her back, and let herself recline completely on the hard chest behind her, hearing the sound of clothing moving, feeling the buttons of a vest digging in the back of her neck, a pocket watch near her head. Later that night, when she had been freed of the hypnotic music and sensation, she would convince herself that she had been mistaken. He was an angel, the angel of music sent by her father to teach her the secrets of music, not a man.

But at this moment, she let herself enjoy him as if he were.

Months later, when the Angel of Music would cry on his knees before her and swear among tears that he was nothing but a man, she would cry too. It was a sin.

And Erik was _burning._

He had never thought such happiness could exist, such bliss, such pain, such joy and suffering and ecstasy all at the same time. Tears began to fall down his face, under the cloth, on top of her head.

"Angel?"

Erik's hollow cheek rested over her head.

"Do not speak, Christine. Do not speak and do not open your eyes. Enjoy this with me, please. Please enjoy this with me," he murmured and had to fight every cell on his body, every animalistic instinct that so many times had saved his life in the past by taking others', to not kiss her hair. Even through the mask, even if it was just her hair, even if she could never feel it, it was not his right to steal that. Not that. He could not.

This was wrong, so, so wrong. He was not an angel, he was a man. He was a wicked man, a monster who was abusing this girl's naivety and all because of a selfish sentiment that monsters like him should not feel.

He should not love her with such burning, blinding passion.

Christine remained there, motionless but for her fingers until the music stopped. Then his fingers curved over her hands, dug themselves over the space between her fingers and squeezed her hands.

"I am sorry, Christine Daaé. Please do not open your eyes."

And like that, the angel of music left Christine alone before a silent, dead piano.

-0-

 **Author's note:** just a little something to remind y'all that I'm still not dead and neither is my love for these two:)

I swear this was supposed to be a cute fluffy one shot, but I distracted myself for a second and POOF! Suddenly everyone's crying. Oops.

I guess I'll have to think of something else: I _need_ some fluff. Some really cute, sweet, honey-sticky fluff. These poor babes deserve some happiness with each other!

Please leave a review, thanks:)


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